Lucky to Have Her Rewrite
by calgarry
Summary: A rewrite of my previous story, 'Lucky to Have Her', for kitsykatsy. In which Peggy comes home rather the worse for wear after a fight, and Angie gets a different end of the stick, although it's still the wrong one.


**A/N: So this is actually a rewrite of my other story, 'Lucky to Have Her', about Angie finding Peggy after she's been beaten up, and coming to the conclusion that it was Jarvis who attacked her. This version, as requested by Kitsykatsy, has her coming to a different conclusion, but it's still the wrong one. Enjoy.**

* * *

Peggy Carter crept down the hallway, treading carefully. She hoped she wouldn't alert anyone to her presence. The last thing she needed right now was someone reporting her to Ms Fry for getting back after curfew.

When she reached the stairs, Peggy carefully lifted one foot, wincing in pain. She made her way slowly up the stairs until she arrived at the second-to-last one, which gave an almighty _creak_.

Peggy froze. She glanced around, half-expecting Mrs Fry to appear out of the woodwork and throw her out.

Luckily, no-one appeared. No doors opened. She slowly let out a breath and continued on her journey, around the corner and into her room.

Next door, Angela Martinelli was reading a book when she thought she heard Peggy's door open and close. She glanced at the clock across the room. It was nearly midnight. She frowned – surely Peggy knew better than to get home at this hour. Did she _want_ to get caught by Ms Fry?

Angie shrugged, and went back to her book. A few pages later, however, she heard the faint sound of muffled voices coming from Peggy's room. Listening more closely, Angie recognised the voices as being from the 'Captain America' radio show. Now, Angie knew Peggy, and Peggy never put the radio on that late at night. And especially not _that_ program.

By now, Angie was convinced that something was wrong. Pursing her lips, she laid her book down and stood up, heading to the door. She poked her head out into the passage and peered around, making sure nobody was around to see her. When she was sure the coast was clear, Angie slipped out and crept to Peggy's door. She could hear the voices from the radio – they were definitely from the 'Captain America' show. She supposed they must be replaying it for late-night listeners. Although why Peggy would be listening to it, she had no idea.

Angie suddenly realised that she was leaning towards the door, and hastily stood up straight. She raised her hand, and hesitated. What if she was imagining things? What if Peggy had been there all night? What if she had fallen asleep and left the radio on?

Then Angie heard what sounded like a gasp of pain from behind the door. Her resolve strengthened, and she raised a hand and knocked once on the door. "Peggy?" she said, quietly so as not to awake anybody else in the surrounding bedroom.

When there was no response from within, she grew bolder. "Peggy?" she said again, knocking twice.

There was still no reply. An idea struck Angie: what if Peggy couldn't hear her knocking because of the radio? Angie listened for another moment, until she heard Peggy hiss in pain once again. That was when she made the decision.

She took a breath, then turned the handle and opened the door, pushing forward into Peggy's room. "Are you okay? I thought I heard-"

Angie cut herself off at the sight of Peggy. She was standing in the middle of the room, wearing only trousers and underwear, holding her shirt in her hand. Before Angie could be embarrassed at finding her friend half-dressed, however, she noticed something much more worrying.

Peggy had red marks all over her neck and chest, which were recognisable as finger-marks. It looked as if someone had tried to strangle her. There was also a cut on her left arm, running across the bicep. Eyes travelling down, Angie could see a rip in Peggy's right trouser leg, revealing another painful-looking cut on her thigh.

There was a terrible moment of silence, both women staring at each other, wearing identical expressions of shock and embarrassment. Neither knew quite what to say. Sounds of punching and breaking glass came from the radio, but both ignored it, focusing instead on the other.

Angie was the first to find her voice. "Oh, Peggy," she breathed. "Who did this to you?"

"Nobody," she said quickly. Too quickly, she realised.

"Don't give me that," Angie said firmly. Now the initial shock was wearing off, she was beginning to feel angry, both at whoever had hurt Peggy and at Peggy herself for trying to defend them. "Is this why you were home late?"

Peggy frowned. "How did you know I was home late?"

"I notice things. You're avoiding the question," Angie stated. Seeing that Peggy wasn't going to give her anything willingly, she took a couple of steps further into the room and sat down on a chair. "I'm going to stay here," she told Peggy firmly, "until you tell me what happened to you."

"Angie…"

"Do you want me to get Ms Fry up here?"

The threat of their fearsome landlady shut Peggy up. She considered the situation, automatically glancing around the room to check for escape routes. Her darting eyes eventually looked down, and she realised that she was still holding her shirt. That gave her an idea. "Actually, Angie, do you mind if I…?" She held the shirt up self-consciously to cover her chest.

"Go ahead," Angie said flatly. "I won't look." Sure enough, she turned away so she was facing the wall.

Peggy slowly pulled her shirt back on, wincing in pain and trying not to cry out. She considered making a break for the door, still open a crack from when Angie had come in. Surely Angie wouldn't hear her footsteps over the cheesy voices from the radio.

No sooner had she thought that, however, than Angie reached forwards and turned off the radio, leaving the room in silence.

Peggy sighed inwardly. No point in stalling any longer. "I'm done," she said.

Angie turned back around to face Peggy. "What happened to you, English?" she asked, her voice surprisingly soft. "Why aren't you telling me?"

Peggy remembered the events leading up to her coming home like this, battered and bruised. She remembered being trapped, outnumbered three men against one woman in a dark warehouse. She recalled how they had circles her, laughing before they got down to the business of finishing her off. Peggy remembered being scared, truly scared. Not of dying, but rather of not being able to finish everything she had started. She had been scared of not showing the world that she could do anything a man could, if not more. Moreover, she had been scared of those closest to her losing her; including the woman who now sat before her, arms firmly folded.

With a sigh, Peggy sat down on her bed. This time, a hiss of pain left her lips as she stretched her thigh, and she glanced up guiltily to watch Angie's mouth form into a firm line of disapproval.

"I can't tell you, Angie," she said. "I'm sorry."

Angie's lips pulled even tighter. "Can't tell me?" She shook her head. "Not good enough, Peggy. Someone's hurt you, and you're going to tell me who."

"Or what?" Peggy asked.

That made Angie pause. What _would_ she do if Peggy didn't tell her? She had no idea.

"Please, English," she said finally. "I'm worried about you."

"Well, you don't need to be," Peggy told her. "I can take care of myself."

Angie resisted the urge to scoff. "Sure, you can take care of yourself," she said. "That's why you're sitting there now, looking like someone tried to kill you."

 _Three people_ , Peggy thought but did not say.

"Was it a man?" Angie asked. "Did you met someone? A man? Did they do this to you? Have they done it before?" She stopped and gasped, an idea occurring to her. "Was it Mr Fancy from the automat? That colleague of yours?"

Despite herself, Peggy had to admire Angie's insistence. Perhaps the S.S.R. should hire her for their interrogations. "No, it wasn't Jarvis," she said emphatically, "and I haven't met a man." Her voice became weary. "I don't know who did this."

Angie looked Peggy in the eye. She believed her, or at least she believed that it wasn't Mr Fancy who had done this to her. "Did you get jumped on the street?"

"What? No!" Peggy said quickly, before realising that being jumped could have been a reasonable explanation. "I mean…"

"Then who?" Angie insisted. "Why don't you report them to the police?"

 _Because the S.S.R. will have them in custody by now, providing they found the clues I left for them_ , Peggy thought, but also did not say.

Angie continued. "Because let me tell you now, you don't need to stay with nobody that treats you like that." She nodded to the bloody arm of Peggy's shirt. "You deserve much better than that, trust me."

Peggy was flattered, but she didn't know how to respond. Instead, she rubbed her eyes with one hand and said, "Look, Angie, it's very late. I'm tired. Can we please do this tomorrow? Or later today, as the case may be," she added, looking at the clock, which now read after midnight.

Angie's face softened. "Okay," she said, "but you're not getting off so easy next time, English. You hear?"

If this was easy, Peggy was tempted to ask what hard would be. Instead, she smiled softly, and nodded. "I hear."

"Right. Good." Angie stood up and began to walk to the door, before she stopped. "Are you gonna be all right tonight?"

"Yes, Angie," Peggy said softly. "I'll see you in the morning."

She nodded. "Good night, English." And with that she was gone, back to her own room to puzzle over the conversation she had just had.

Peggy sighed. She slowly stood up and pulled off her shirt once more, wincing as she did so.

She walked over to the mirror and inspected the marks on her chest. Nothing some make-up couldn't hide. Next she moved on to the cut on her arm, before looking at the one on her leg. She could get those covered up quickly, but it would be a bugger trying to get the bloodstains out of her clothing. If she patched herself up quickly, she thought, then hopefully she would have enough time to get a halfway-decent sleep before getting up early to avoid Angie at breakfast.

She felt bad for lying to her best friend, but what else could she do? She couldn't very well tell Angie about working for the S.S.R., and somehow she doubted that Angie would believe her if she said she had taken out three strong men and walked away. Well, hobbled away.

* * *

When she came down for breakfast the next morning, Angie was disappointed, but not especially surprised to find that Peggy had already had her breakfast and gone. As she buttered her toast, she resolved to corner Peggy the first chance she got.

Somehow, Angie knew that Peggy wouldn't be in the automat today. So instead of going straight to work that day, she left earlier than usual, and embarked upon a Peggy-hunt. She took the first train she could to the city centre, which arrived at the station two minutes after the one she knew Peggy would be taking.

As soon as the doors opened, Angie was off, ducking and dodging through the crowd of people until she reached the open air. She did not stop there, scuttling as fast as she could towards the New York Bell Company headquarters. As she neared the door, Angie caught a glimpse of a bright red fedora in the crowd ahead of her. She grinned, knowing exactly who it was.

Angie followed Peggy into the building and up a set of stairs into a corridor. She saw Peggy walk into an office about halfway down, and Angie continued past the door, glancing inside as she passed. She saw Peggy standing at the far end of a telephone switchboard, talking to a woman.

Angie came to a halt just past the door, grinning. She had found the place. Now she just had to get in to talk to Peggy.

Cautiously, she turned around and walked back past the door again, glancing inside surreptitiously just to check. The scene was exactly as she had remembered it: the cramped office, the switchboard, with several women manning the lines. The only difference was that Peggy was nowhere to be seen.

When she had passed the door, she stopped once again, this time frowning. Where had Peggy gone?

After a moment of deliberation, she decided that she must have missed something. Angie took a breath and turned around one last time, walking into the office bold as brass. Peggy was still not there. She walked down the switchboard, ignoring the women staring at her as she passed them, and reached the woman to whom Peggy had been talking. She stood calmly until the woman looked up at her, frowning. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so," Angie said. "I'm looking for Peggy Carter. I think she works here." She offered a smile, trying to seem friendly.

The woman did not seem to feel the same way. Her eyes narrowed, and Angie noticed her reach under the desk in front of her. "That would depend on who is asking."

Angie's smile began to falter. "I'm her friend," she said. "Angela Martinelli. I thought I saw Peggy come in here?"

The woman's arm tensed, seeming to grip onto something under her desk. No prizes for guessing what she was reaching for. "She's not here at the moment," the woman said curtly. "I'll tell her you were here."

"Oh," Angie said, deflated. "Okay then. Thanks." She offered another smile, but was again met with stony silence.

Angie left the office quickly. She was hyper-aware of the stares following her as she left, and although she was used to attention on stage, it was quite different in a cramped switchboard room full of stony faces.

She hurried back down the stairs, and before she knew it, Angie was out of the building and in the fresh air. She stopped and took a few breaths, glad to be away from the suspicious stares. But, she thought, why did the woman say that Peggy wasn't there? Angie had distinctly seen them talking, less than a minute before she had gone in. Or had she?

Just like that, Angie's mind became clouded with doubt. What if she hadn't seen Peggy talking to the woman? What if she'd imagined the whole thing?

Angie was sure of one thing, though: she could smell something fishy, and it wasn't the harbour.

* * *

Daniel Sousa arrived at the office later than usual. As he approached the door, it swung open, and Jack Thompson stormed out with an expression that could curdle milk. Peggy Carter walked directly behind him, a small smirk on her face, as if laughing at him.

Sousa turned and watched as the unlikely pair crossed the foyer and headed towards the stairs. He turned back and shifted his grip on his crutch, moving off and limping into the office. Chief Dooley was standing inside. "What's up with Thompson?" Sousa asked, jerking his head over his shoulder.

"We had an anonymous tip-off last night," Dooley said, turning and walking back the other way. Sousa followed him. "Some girl called. Apparently Stark is planning to return home, so I've put two agents on surveillance."

"Carter and Thompson," Sousa realized. "That's why he was looking so sour."

Dooley smirked. "Yeah, he wasn't too pleased to hear that he was stuck with Carter all day."

"What did Agent Carter think?"

They were outside Dooley's office door now. "Oh, you know her. Likes to think she's useful. Don't let on, but I'm not exactly setting much store by this anonymous tip-off. They haven't exactly been trustworthy in the past. But if anything does come of it, Thompson can take care of her." He smirked again, and opened his office door, stepping inside. Sousa limped over to his desk, ready to start the day.

At that moment, Peggy and Thompson were entering the switchboard room which served as a cover for their office. Peggy was about to walk past the women sitting there when Mary called her name. "You've had a visitor," she said.

Peggy glanced at her watch. "What, already? Who was it?"

"A girl called Angela," Mary said. "Angela Martinelli. You know her?"

Peggy's eyes widened. "Yes, she's my neighbour. Did she come in here?"

Marry nodded. "Walked in, bold as you like, and came right up to me and asked for you. Only a minute after you went in, actually."

"Well, she knows I'm supposed to work here." Peggy frowned. "I'll talk to her after work. Thank you, Mary."

"Any time, Peggy," Marry said with a grin, and put her headphones on once again.

Peggy hurried over to the door where Thompson was standing impatiently. She had a good idea why Angie had come to see her, but she didn't like it.

When she reached Thompson, he raised his eyebrows. "Are you two done gossiping?"

"Yes, thank you," she told him, smiling sweetly. He rolled his eyes, turning and striding away. She kept up with him easily.

"I don't see why we have to go undercover," Thompson grumbled when they got to the lobby of the Bell Phone Company.

"Someone has to keep an eye on Mr Stark's house," Peggy said, now walking beside him. "You heard Chief Dooley, we've had a tip-off that-"

He cut her off. "I know what the chief said," he snapped. "I don't see why I had to be landed with _you_ to watch the house with!"

Peggy managed not to roll her eyes. "It's probably just for today," she reminded him. "You can go back to loudly hating me tomorrow, assuming that the chief doesn't put us together again."

Jack strode to the door. "I know," he said curtly. "And he'd better not." He pulled the door open and strode through ahead of her.

Peggy caught him up easily and grabbed his arm, linking it through hers.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, staring warily at where their arms were entwined.

"Keeping up appearances," she said, looking around them at the crowd. "For being undercover. We don't know where Stark might have spies." She glanced up at him. "Oh, do try to smile."

Jack managed an expression which was not so much a smile as a grimace. Peggy inspected it and gave a grudging nod of approval. And then they moved off, disappearing down into the subway.

Across the street, Angie moved away from the pillar she had been hiding behind, watching Peggy and Jack suspiciously. She nodded to herself. Finally, she knew who Peggy had been protecting. Or at least, she thought she knew.

* * *

At work, Angie was restless. She hovered around the counter all day, casting occasional furtive glances towards the door. She was still half-hoping to see the familiar figure of her friend strolling in from the street, ready to sit down with a cup of coffee and tell her about her day.

But Peggy did not come. Once again, Angie was disappointed, but not especially surprised. She was probably too busy with her fancy new man to come in to see Angie.

But she wasn't jealous, Angie decided as she poured coffee into the cup of an annoying regular at the back of the automat. Of course not. Why should she be? Peggy was a grown woman, free to spend her time however she liked, with whomever she liked. Even if that person was a…

"Hey! Watch it!"

Angie was jerked out of her train of thought by the annoying regular's yell. She looked down to see that her hand had accidentally moved, and she was now pouring coffee into his lap instead of the cup. "Oh gosh," she said, hurriedly righting the pot, "I'm so sorry." She hurriedly mopped up the mess with paper napkins, apologising profusely all the while.

"I should think so, too," the annoying regular said, watching her disapprovingly. As she stood up and turned to go, she heard him mutter, "Stupid bitch."

Nostrils flaring, Angie took a deep breath. _Don't let him get to you_. Nevertheless, she hurried to the back room before she could start cursing out a customer. She put away the cleaning supplies and headed out again, resolving to stay near the front of the automat for the rest of her shift, as far away from the annoying regular as she could.

It was late afternoon when Angie saw it. She was wiping down a table in the front window when she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure outside: Peggy Carter, walking down the pavement past the automat bold as brass. The man she had been with earlier was walking beside her, although their arms were no longer linked. The man's hands were in his pockets, and he looked relaxed and at ease. Peggy, however, was walking stiffly, head bowed, arms firmly by her sides.

Angie couldn't help it: she ducked down under the table, pretending to be scrubbing at a spot on the floor in case either of them looked in. Neither did, but nevertheless, Angie waited until she was sure they were gone before she straightened up.

So something had happened, Angie realised. Something to put the man at ease, and make Peggy upset. Her eyes narrowed. Something would have to be done.

Angie's shift had never felt as long as it did that day. She kept glancing at the clock, counting down the minutes until clocking-out time. As she worked, a plan began to form in Angie's head, which she hoped would sort out Peggy's mystery man once and for all.

Half an hour before the end of her shift, Angie grabbed another waitress. "Doreen, can you cover for me?" she asked apologetically. "I just got a message from my brother. Family troubles."

Doreen looked sympathetic. "Course I will, darling. You go and do what you need to, yeah?"

"Thanks Doreen, you're a doll." Angie gave her a hug, then rushed off to grab her coat before dashing out the door.

Twenty minutes later, Angie arrived at the Griffith Hotel, flushed and panting. She came to a stop outside the door, stopping to catch her breath a moment before sailing inside, avoiding Ms Fry's office on the way up to her room.

In her room, Angie headed straight for the truck at the end of her bed, where she kept props from old plays (which she may or may not have technically been 'allowed' to keep). She grabbed an item from within, then went to the mirror and picked up a hairbrush. She pulled her hair into a tight bun and fastened it, and then Angie was off, hurrying down the stairs and through the lobby. As soon as she was out the door, Angie broke into a run, not caring that she almost knocked over a woman on her way out.

When Angie arrived across the road from the Bell Telephone company fifteen minutes later, flushed and panting for breath, there was no sign of Peggy or the man. She checked her watch. It was two minutes before Peggy's shift was due to end.

Still breathing heavily, Angie leaned against the pillar she had hidden behind that morning, keeping a careful eye on the doorway across the street. Sure enough, three minutes later, she saw a distinctive red hat exiting the building. The hat turned and headed towards the subway station; but Angie stayed put. She had more important things to do than follow a hat.

She didn't have to wait long before another person exited the building: the man whom Angie had seen with Peggy, earlier that day. He, too, turned and headed towards the subway station. Angie pushed off from her pillar and hurried across the street, skipping around stationary cars, keeping one eye firmly on the man. She followed him down to the subway station, where he caught a train heading in the opposite direction from the way Angie would normally have gone. She, too, hopped on the train, keeping down the other end of the carriage from the man.

Looking down, Angie realised that she hadn't thought of changing out of her work dress. The colour was a bit conspicuous, even on the crowded train, and she was attracting several curious glances. Angie pulled her long coat tightly around herself, hoping the man would not notice her uniform: she didn't want to be tracked later on.

The train ride was relatively long, and Angie had a chance to look at the man properly. He was tall and slender, and she supposed he was good-looking as well, although he wasn't exactly her type. He stood firmly amongst the crush of people in the train, and seemed to radiate confidence. He glared at a man who refused to make room for a pregnant woman, and refused to sit down himself when a seat became free, instead offering it to a lost-looking old man.

Angie saw all this, and wondered how the same guy could have hurt Peggy. But it must have been him: why else would he have been walking with Peggy, arms linked? Peggy had told Angie all about her fathead male colleagues, and she was sure that Peggy wouldn't have been friends with any of them. Why else would two perfectly normal people from the phone company be walking down the street together like lovers? And why hadn't Peggy sad anything about having met someone?

A thought occurred to Angie. What if he was married? That would explain the need for secrecy, at least.

Angie looked around. The train carriage was not as full now as it had been, and there was room to move in the aisle. She stood up, and unsteadily made her way down the carriage towards the as-yet-unnamed man. Angie was only a foot away from him when the train turned a corner, and Angie took the opportunity to fall into his arms with a cry of alarm.

The man caught Angie easily, and held her shoulders, steadying her upright. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you sir," she said with a simpering smile. "Thanks for catching me."

He shook his head. "It was nothing. But you should be careful in future. These trains can be dangerous for a little lady such as yourself."

Angie resisted the urge to grit her teeth, and instead kept smiling. "Well, maybe I should stay here with you." She reached out and put a hand on his left arm, sliding down to his hand. She laced her fingers through his. "It would be a shame to fall over again."

The man considered for a moment, before nodding. "All right," he said. "My name's Jack, by the way."

Angie squeezed his hand before letting go, noticing as she did so the absence of a ring. "I'm Dorothy," she said sweetly, giving the first name that came to mind, "but you can call me Dottie." _Sorry, Dot_.

"Well, Dottie," Jack said. "Where's your stop? Mine's 73rd Street."

Angie gave a gasp. "Really? That's mine, too! What a coincidence."

Jack grinned. "That's lucky," he said.

The remainder of the ride did not take long. Jack didn't seem one for talking much, and Angie kept up her simpering persona, making sure to 'fall' every so often so he could catch her.

When they arrived at the station, the train carriage had thinned out considerably, with only a few stragglers left. Angie and Jack were the only people to get off at his station. It was darker outside, and there were not many people around.

Looking around, Angie could see that they was in the poorer part of Brooklyn. Not that she was a snob – the neighbourhood she had grown up in wasn't exactly well-off – but it wasn't nearly as nice as where she was living now. _So Peggy came here? Poor girl_ , she thought.

Angie turned to Jack with a grin. "So which way's your place?" He pointed, and she gasped again. "Me too!"

Jack merely nodded, trying to hide a smile. He knew exactly what she was doing. Or at least, he thought he knew.

They set off together towards his flat, Angie hanging off Jack's arm. A rat ran past their feet, and she squealed, leaning closer into him. _Thank goodness for acting classes_ , she thought, _or I would feel really silly right now_.

It was a short walk to Jack's flat. He stopped at the bottom of a set of stairs on the side of a building, leading up to a rickety-looking wooden balcony. He glanced at Angie, seeming almost embarrassed. "This is my stop," he said, not quite meeting her eye.

Angie steeled herself. "Well, stranger," she said. "I guess this is where I leave you."

"Unless..." Jack trailed off, then continued, "You want to come in for a coffee?"

Angie looked him up and down for a moment, as if considering the offer. They both knew what the answer would be, but she felt she should at least go through the motions.

"Sure thing," she said eventually. She accompanied the statement with a wink, then wondered whether she was taking it too far.

Jack didn't seem to think so, however, as he led the way up the wooden stairs with a self-satisfied smirk. Angie followed him up the stairs, glancing up and down the hallway as he pulled out his key and unlocked the door. There were three flats in a row, and Jack had the middle one. There was nobody else to be seen.

Jack got the door open and stood back to let Angie through. He gave a small bow as she passed him, and she gave a flirtatious giggle.

Once inside, Angie looked around. The flat was small, only a fraction larger than her own room at the Griffith Hotel, and not nearly as well-kept. But then again, Jack didn't have Miss Fry watching his every move. The main room was dominated by an unmade bed, with dirty washing in a pile on the rumpled bedding.

Jack hurried over to the bed and knocked the clothes onto the floor with a nervous chuckle. "Sorry about that," he muttered. "The cleaner doesn't come until Sunday."

It was a corny joke, but Angie laughed nonetheless, walking to join him by the bed. Jack walked over to the door nervously and turned the key in the lock, before turning back to the bed expectantly.

He was somewhat surprised to see Angie sitting on the bed, legs crossed, looking daggers at him.

"Um, okay," he said, taking a step towards her.

She folded her arms, still glaring.

Jack stopped. He raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"

"Where were you last night?" Angie asked suddenly.

Jack blinked. The question was out of left field. "Here," he said. "Why do you want to know?"

"Was anybody with you?"

"No," he replied with a frown. "Hey, what is this? Who are you?" He was suddenly on his guard. What if 'Dottie' was a spy? He'd just let her in without thinking.

"I am a concerned friend," Angie told him coldly.

"Whose friend?"

"Let's call her…Hayley," she decided. "I won't say her real name, although I'm sure you already know who she is. You were with her last night, after all."

Jack shook his head. "I told you, I was alone. Look, I think you should go."

He had turned back to open the door when Angie said, "How did it feel? When you beat her up?"

Jack paused. He turned slowly to look at Angie. "What did you say?"

"Hayley," she said, "returned home last night…rather the worse for wear. Frankly, she looked like someone had tried to kill her. Now, she claims she doesn't know who hurt her, but you and I both know it was you. No, don't say anything," she said when he opened his mouth to speak. "You don't get to do that. Now, I don't like my friends getting hurt, especially not by men who are too cowardly to admit they've done it.

"Here's the thing," she continued. "I know you were with Hayley last night. And while I may not be able to prove it, I _can_ prove that you two were together on other occasions." Angie reached into her handbag and pulled out the object from inside the trunk in her room: a fake camera she'd kept from a play two years previously. She held it up. "There are some very interesting pictures of you on this, Jack. Some of Hayley, too. There's even a couple of you together."

Across the room, Jack paled. "I don't know how you got those pictures," he said slowly, "but they're not me. You've got the wrong guy. I promise you, I don't know any Hayley, or whatever her name is. I wish I was with a woman last night, but I wasn't. You gotta believe me, Dottie."

Angie was trying not to smile, honestly she was. But truth be told, she was enjoying this, perhaps a bit _too_ much. "I believe you," she said, "but the people who look at these pictures might not." She wiggled the camera in her hand. "And it would be a real shame if these pictures fell into the wrong hands, wouldn't it, Jack?"

Jack's face hardened. He took a menacing step towards her. "Well, nobody has to see it, do they?" he asked in a low voice, completely different from the cautious tone he had had only a few moments earlier. He took another step towards her. "If you've got the camera here, I don't have to let you leave with it. I could take it away from you, destroy the film, easily."

Angie didn't doubt it: Jack was almost a foot taller than she was. "Well," she said, floundering around in her head for a moment before coming up with a good excuse. "It's a good thing the film isn't in this camera then, isn't it?"

Jack paused. "What?"

"The film isn't in the camera," Angie told him. It was true enough. "I removed it before I came here. Do you really think I would risk you getting your grubby hands on it?" she asked scornfully, standing up. It was her turn to take a step towards Jack, who subconsciously stepped backwards.

"No," Angie continued, confidence growing now, "I brought the camera here to make a point."

"Oh, yeah?" Jack asked, his voice wavering almost imperceptibly. "What point?"

"That if you _ever_ ," she took another step forward, "go near my friend again, I will take these pictures to the police, and I will have you arrested. I'll go to your boss as well, see what he thinks about it. I might even go to the press," Angie added, hoping that she wasn't going too far. "I'm sure somebody there would be interested."

To her surprise, Jack's face had paled again, this time as white as a sheet of paper. "You know where I work?" he choked out.

"Of course I know," she said, trying not to let her confusion show. Why was he so upset that she knew about the telephone company? But it seemed to make him nervous, so she decided to go with it. "I know where you work, Jack Thompson, and I know where you live. And if you ever hurt my friend again, you _will_ regret it."

Angie was satisfied that she had gotten her point across. She walked forwards, pushing past Jack on her way out, who stared at her as if he wasn't sure what to think of her. _Good_ , she thought, allowing herself to smile as she walked out the door and onto the balcony. She had taught him a lesson, and God, had it felt good.

Inside the apartment, Jack realised somewhat belatedly that the woman, whatever her name was, couldn't be allowed to leave. If she knew about the S.S.R, there could be a serious security problem. He blinked hard, and rushed towards the door, looking out to see…nothing. There was no sign of the woman anywhere on the street. She had simply vanished.

Jack closed the door again slowly, and went and sat down on his bed, in the same spot she had occupied only a minute earlier. He let out a shuddering sigh, and ran a hand over his face, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Whatever that was.

* * *

Later that evening, Peggy entered the dining room at the Griffith cautiously, looking around. She was surprised when Angie began to wave enthusiastically, beckoning her over to her table. Peggy frowned, but went over to where Angie was, sitting down opposite her.

"Hi, English," Angie greeted her. "I didn't see you at the automat. Did you have a good day?"

Peggy blinked, surprised at the welcoming tone in Angie's voice. She had expected a cold shoulder at least, or possibly another interrogation. Anything but this, really. Not that she was complaining, of course: she would much rather have Angie talking to her. But she couldn't help being suspicious. The waitress never did anything without a reason.

"Er, hi," Peggy said eventually. "Sorry, I was very busy at work. Couldn't get away. Um, how was your day?"

"Great!" Angie beamed. "Very illuminating, actually. Learned a couple things."

Peggy shifted in her seat, suddenly nervous. "What sort of things?" she asked warily.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Angie said, a touch smugly. "It's all sorted now."

Peggy arched an eyebrow, but Angie suddenly turned to her neighbour and began talking animatedly with her. Peggy sighed, and began to eat her dinner, knowing that she would not get any more information on the subject. Whatever the subject was.

* * *

The next day, Peggy was once again stuck in a car with Jack Thompson, watching one of Howard Stark's many houses from afar. She knew, of course, that he wasn't coming back: Jarvis had given the anonymous tip-off, in the hopes of distracting the S.S.R from his and Peggy's mission to recover Howard's stolen weapons.

They had been sitting in silence for nearly two hours now, and Peggy felt that she would scream if things stayed the same for very much longer.

"I wonder who called the chief," Jack said eventually.

Peggy breathed out a sigh of relief, glad to have an excuse to talk, even if it was to him. "I have no idea," she replied, keeping her voice casual. "It must have been someone who knew about the S.S.R," she continued. She was surprised when Jack suddenly stiffened beside her. "What's wrong?" she asked, turning her head to look at him.

He was staring steadfastly ahead, his face tense. "Nothing," he said.

Peggy rolled her eyes, and looked back towards Howard's house. He was obviously lying, but if he didn't want to tell her…

"Can I tell you something?" Jack asked suddenly.

Peggy glanced towards him, to see that he looked even more tense, if that was possible. His fingers were twisting together in his lap, and his jaw was clenched. "Of course," she said, trying not to let her surprise show in her voice.

"None the guys would believe me if I told them," Jack said, "but I figured you might."

Was that an apologetic tone she detected in his voice? "I might," she said. "Why don't you try me?"

"I met a girl last night," he began. Peggy rolled her eyes, and he said, "No, not like that. Well, kinda like that. At first."

She frowned. "At first?"

"We met on the train," Jack explained. "She came to my flat, but then when we got inside, she changed completely. It was like she was a different person, you know? She said that she knew all about me, and about the S.S.R."

Peggy turned to look at Jack, finally giving him her full attention. "She knew about the S.S.R?" she repeated disbelievingly.

Jack nodded. "She was threatening me, saying that she was going to tell the chief and the police about some girl I beat up. I didn't beat up any girl," he added quickly when Peggy's expression turned aghast. "But this girl, she thought I knew her friend. Hayley or something. She said she had pictures of us together, and if I didn't stop seeing her, then she'd report me. Then she just up and left."

"But if you don't know this Hayley, then surely there's nothing to report," Peggy said logically.

"That's what I told her," Jack said emphatically. "But this chick was crazy, reckoned I was with Hayley night before last or something, and that I beat her up."

Suddenly, something clicked in Peggy's brain. "She thought that you attacked her friend," she repeated slowly. "Tell me, was this girl about five foot four, with brown hair and cheekbones?"

Jack nodded slowly. "That's her! Do you know her?"

 _Oh, no_ Peggy thought. _Angie, what have you done?_ "Not really," she lied, "although I've seen her around the headquarters occasionally. I thought she looked suspicious."

"Well, she was suspicious," Jack agreed. "Should we report her to the chief?"

"No," Peggy said hastily. Then, "We should wait a while, to see if she makes another appearance. It may be that she was merely trying to scare you, which seems to have worked."

Jack looked uncertain. "But what if she's serious?"

"Put it this way," Peggy said reasonably. "Do you really want to tell Chief Dooley that you let a potentially dangerous woman, who knows all about you and the S.S.R, walk out of your flat?"

Jack considered her statement for a long moment. Eventually, he nodded. "That's right. We should wait to see if she tries anything else first."

"Good idea," Peggy said, letting out a silent sigh of relief.

They both turned back to watch Howard's mansion, although Peggy could not focus on the job. Instead, her brain was spinning at a hundred miles an hour, considering what she had just learned. If it was Angie who had confronted Jack – and she couldn't be certain that it was – then Angie had surely been watching Peggy, and had seen her and Jack together the previous day.

Come to think of it, they had walked past the L&L Automat, although Peggy had been more focused on the faux pas she had made in front of Jack earlier that day. So Angie had seen Jack and Peggy together, put two and two together, made five, and assumed that Jack was the one who had attacked Peggy, and then gone to confront him about it…

Peggy couldn't help smiling slightly at the thought of Angie squaring up to the much-taller Jack Thompson in an attempt to defend her. It was a reckless thing for Angie to do, of course; but all the same, Peggy couldn't help but feel a little proud of Angie. She certainly was lucky to have her as a friend.


End file.
